When he first saw that pink ribbon he thought nothing of it. If anything, it was tacky-looking, something that you’d wrap a gift with, not wear on your head.

And it was beautiful.

And then one day she left him. She left him the ribbon, and nothing else.

And it was beautiful, and so soft.

At night he would stroke it between his thumb and forefinger, feeling its softness. Sometimes it tickled his nose when he inhaled deeply from the synthetic fabric.

Eventually, he couldn’t sleep without it, as he learned one restless night when he had misplaced it.

He found it the next day and he was happy for a long time.

One day he saw a brilliant flash of chestnut brown crouching in the faded pink threads of the ribbon.

A hair.

His were white by then.

And suddenly, he felt very lonely.